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GOLDEN SANDS 



A COLLECTION 



OF 



LITTLE COUNSELS 



For the 



SANCTIFICATION AND HAPPINESS OF DAILY 

LIFE ^uL<x^,OJi 



Illustrated by C. E. Wentwortii 



TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 



By ELLA McMAHON 




NEW YORK 
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

27 AND 29 WEST 23D STREET 
18S3 



V 



^BB LiBRAttir 

WASHINGTON 



J 



COPYRIGHT BY 

ELLA McMAHON 
1883 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



In the summer, in the south of France, little 
children and the infirm poor, incapable of hard 
labor, in order to earn a little bread, occupy them- 
selves in collecting from the beds of half-dried rivers 
golde7i sands which are carried by the water in its 
course and glisten in the sun. 

What these poor and little ones do with the 
golden sands which God has scattered in these un- 
known rivers, let us attempt, with these little cotmsels 
which God has scattered everywhere to sparkle, and 
glisten, and comfort for an instant, then to disappear, 
leaving to the soul the regret of not having gathered 
them. 

Who has not sometimes felt the strength of some 
sweet and simple lesson which thrilled him, and 
revealed to him suddenly a world of peace, of 
devotion, and of joy ? 

It was a word read in a book, a remark heard by 
accident in conversation, but which for us had a 
particular meaning, and left us with an unknown 
strength. It was a smile surprised on the lips of 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



one whom we loved, and yet knew to be suffering, 
which told us of the joy of resignation. It was the 
frank look of an innocent child which revealed to us 
all the sweetness and gentleness of simplicity. 

Oh! if we knew how to gather and fix in our 
souls these lessons which gleam for an instant like a 
luminous ray, how useful they would be to us in 
days of discouragement and sorrow ! 

What wise counsels we would find in them for our 
conduct ! 

What consolation for our aching hearts! 

What ingenious means of doing good I 

It is this simple work of collecting a little every- 
where, from nature, from books y from souls particularly, 
that one of your brothers proposes to do for you, 
dear friends, who desire to lead holy and devout 
lives. 

And as these little sands of gold which are singly 
gathered from the bed of the stream bring, when 
collected, a little comfort to homes of the poor, so 
he wishes to bring a little joy to your heart and a 
little peace to your souls. 

HAPPINESS. 

Is it not a good omen — this word placed on the 
first page ? Does it not mean that our book wishes 
to be a messenger of happiness ? 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



Messenger of happiness ! What a beautiful title ! 

To ^^^Tze; where happiness is to be found, Xo gather 
and diffuse it — what a sweet and gentle mission ! 

First of all, then, we wish to tell where happiness 
is. Do not suppose it such a difficult task. 

Happiness radiates from all that atmosphere which 
surrounds our souls, and which we call family, em- 
ployment — position in the order of Providence — just 
as through the atmosphere which surrounds the 
body is diffused the light which gladdens and 
nourishes. 

The atmosphere of the soul is full of joys, as 
heaven is full of stars. 

The stars of the soul are called duties. Wherever 
there is a duty there also may a joy be found. 

To accomplish a duty is to diffuse a joy ; and as 
every moment of life holds a duty, it depends upon 
us to surround ourselves with unceasing joys. 

How beautiful, then, is life, with its uninterrupted 
duties, its uninterrupted joys, and after a series of 
days, more or less extended, heaven forever ! 

When I study life in detail, I see that each 
moment brings — 

A little work to do. 

A little occasion of manifesting affection and 
kindness. 

A little occasion of being devoted. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



A little patience and forbearance to practise. 

A little occasion for a short prayer. 

A little struggle to sustain. 

All these are duties imposed by God ; and each 
time I perform them, with the Intention, more or 
less general, of submitting to the will of God, I feel 
a glow of happiness, and life becomes an uninter- 
rupted series of new joys. 

* 

The little girl gayly sets herself to work ; but, 
look — she scarcely glances at the page marked for 
her, and her fingers rapidly turn over the pages of 
the whole book ; then she closes It, looks at the 
open copy-book before her, smilingly reads the copy, 
and begins her writing with an industry which is 
delightful to witness. 

But, look once more — the writing Is cast disdain- 
fully aside, and the little one resumes her book, 
murmuring, with a yawn. How tiresome this is ! 

She rises and goes to the window ; she listens to 
a bird singing ; she follows with her eyes a workman 
who Is going across the fields ; then she quickly 
turns to pursue a butterfly which has come In 
through the window and is tremblingly fluttering 
about her work-table. 

But thou giddy, fickle little one, dost thou not see 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



that the hour is nearly gone, and thy task on the 
table will be still there to-morrow ? 

Remain, remain, then, where thy mother placed 
thee ; begin, continue, and quietly complete the task 
thy mother assigned thee. 

If, at ten years of age, thou canst not courageously 
conquer disgust, lassitude, and weariness ; if thou 
canst not conquer thyself to learn the easy page 
before thee, how painful will be thy future life ! It 
will be a useless life : a life without order, a life 
without result, a life without peace ! 

Little one, be less fickle ; fix only for a few 
moments, fix thy mind and gently command its 
attention to the end of that line ; then another and, 
little by little, the task will be accomplished, and thy 
mother will be pleased. 

Nothing, my child — nothing good is ever effected 
without perseverance, 

**The heart must be strong to accomplish its 
mission, and habitual serenity alone can give it that 
strength. The dew of the eyes, called tears, is not 
refreshing ; it is withering. 

" My child ! remain not a dreamer : labor, pray 
devote thyself! 

" And then beware of harboring in the depth of 
thy soul, or thy heart, what is called a secret, A 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



secret, at thy age, is a gnawing and destroying 
worm. 

"" The secrets of thy heart confide to thy mother. 

** The secrets of thy soul, thou knowest to whom 
thou must confide them." 

A gracious word, opportunely uttered, is no trifle 
in the matter of happiness ; nor a kindly smile added 
to a suggestion, a slight uneasiness spared another, 
nor even an extra act of politeness. 

Joy in life is like the oil in the lamp. 

When the oil commences to fail, the wick burns 
with a glimmering red flame, filling the air about it 
with a black smoke. 

Life, also, without a little joy, burns unprofitably, 
filling the air about it with depression and sadness. 

If every morning, by a resigned and simple 
prayer — by that quarter of an hour of meditation 
which only seems difficult when we do not practise 
it, — we would open our hearts to God, as we open a 
window to the air and sun, God would put there for 
the day that sweet, calm joy which elevates the soul, 
causes it to feel less the weight of sorrow, and 
makes it experience the desire to overflow in 
kindness. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



We are never so good as when we possess a joy- 
ful heart. 

But joy Is not mirth, neither is it clever speeches 

nor repartees ; ... it is habitual serenity. 

These words well express a great deal. 

A serene atmosphere leaves the sky always 
visible ; it is lighter, and seem.s to lift from the earth 
the bodies that breathe it. 

A serene sky is always pure. . . . Clouds 
may pass over its deep azure, but they mar it not. 

It is thus with the heart that opens in the morning 
to the joy of God. 

"■ You are never in ill-humor," was remarked to a 
woman who was known to be sorely tried at home ; 
" is it that you do not feel the injustice of mankind 
nor the annoyance of things ? " 

'' I feel them as you do," she replied, " but they 
do not wound me." 

" You have, then, a special balm ? " 

" Yes, for the annoyance of persons I have affec- 
tion ; for those of things I have prayer ; and over 
each smarting wound I pronounce these words : 

* God wills it.' " 

* * 



lo GOLDEN SANDS. 

Indulgence Is more than kindness. It presupposes 
It without doubt, but it adds to this virtue a great 
strength of character, a powerful affection, and 
habitual innocence ; indulgence is the offspring of a 
pure soul. 

Persons of no heart do not understand indulgence. 

Those of little intelligence believe indulgence cul- 
pable. 

Those who are at peace with their conscience are 
often led to an excessive rigor. To overlook nothing 
in others is often a proof that we overlook a great 
deal in ourselves. 

Indulgence is more than pardoning ; it is excusing ; 
it is seeking a favorable interpretation for every thing ; 
it is, above all, never showing that a word or action 
has wounded us. 

Indulgence is saying of the person who has 
wounded us : ** She did not think, otherwise she 
would not have done it ; she did not mean to give 
me pain, she loves me too much ; she could not do 
differently, and perhaps she is suffering from the 
thought of having displeased me." There is no 
more efficacious balm for the wounds of the heart 
than the excuses we frame for those who have 
offended us. 

To be indulgent is to forget every evening the 
contradictions which we have borne each day, and to 



GOLDEN SANDS ii 

say to ourselves each morning : "■ To-day I will be 
stronger and more calm than yesterday." 

Indulgence goes so far as to make us accuse our- 
selves inwardly of not being sufficiently kind, affable, 
charitable. 

' To be indulgent is not only to accept the excuses 
which are made us, but to be beforehand with those 
who timidly seek us to ask pardon. 

Then we must never punish ? 

Yes, . . . by loving still more ! 

" Thou wilt never believe me wicked," said a young 
man to his sister, whom he frequently pained by his 
misconduct, and who always excused him. 

" No',' she replied, " not as long as you love me, 
, . . Would you always give me pain ? " 

Nothing preserves affection in the heart like the 
indulgence with which we surround it, and, when 
affection lasts, it ends by rendering the heart good. 

What is necessary to make one forbearing ? A 
great deal oigood sense with a little piety. 

How many persons would dare each evening to 
say simply to God : My God, treat me to-morrow as 
I have to-day treated such a person whom I have rudely 
repulsed, whose faults I have broicght to light through 



12 GOLDEN SANDS, 

malice or to parade my wit ; as I have treated another 
to whoniy throitgh pride, through aversion , through 
contempt, I have refused to speak, who7n I have avoided, 
whom I cannot like because she displeased me, whom I 
cannot pardon, and with whom I do not wish to ex- 
change any civility. 

And yet do not forget that, sooner or later, God 
will do unto you as you do unto others. 

No position is subject to more petty annoyances 
than that of the mother of a family or the mistress of 
a house. It often happens that she is interrupted 
ten times in writing a letter or arranging an account. 
What a habit of holiness, what an empire over self, 
must not one possess in order to show no impatience 
and to meet these trifling contradictions with equable 
serenity ! 

To discontinue one's work without any apparent 
trouble, to reply smilingly, to wait patiently the end 
of a long conversation, to resume calmly the inter- 
rupted work — this is the mark of a soul which 
possesses itself and which God possesses. 

Oh ! how much good these souls effect about 
them, but how rare they are ! 

MY CROSS OF TO-DAY. 

If I have not a cross, I will make no progress 
toward heaven. A cross — that is to say, all that 
distitrbs us — is the sting which stimulates us, and 



GOLDEN SANDS. 13 

without which we would remain stationary, receiving 
all the dust of the road, and perhaps sinking by 
degrees into evil. 

A cross is the spring which pushes us forward in 
spite of our apathy and resistance. 

WHAT IS MY CROSS OF TO-DAY ? 

It IS a person whom Providence has placed near 
me, and whom I dislike ; who humiliates me con- 
stantly by her disdainful manner ; who wearies me 
by her slowness in the work which I share with her ; 
who excites my jealousy because she is loved more 
than I and because she succeeds better than I ; who 
irritates me by her chatter, her frivolity, or even by 
her attentions to me. 

It is a person who, for some vague reason, I 
believe to be inimical to me ; who, according to my 
excited imagination, watches me, criticises me, ridi- 
cules me. 

She is there, always there. . . . My efforts 
to avoid her are of no avail. 

A mysterious power seems to multiply these ap- 
pearances before me. . . . 

This is my most painful cross ; the others are very 
small compared to this. 



14 GOLDEN SANDS, 

Circumstances change, temptations diminish, posi- 
tions improve, misfortune becomes endurable by 
habit, but persons who are disagreeable to us always 
irritate us more and more. 

HOW I MUST BEAR MY CROSS OF TO-DAY. 

By not showing in any way the weariness, the 
dislike, or the involuntary repulsion which her 
presence causes me. By obliging myself to render 
her some service ; it matters little whether she knows 
it — it is a secret between God and me. 

To frequently say something good of her talents, 
of her virtues, her tact. ... I will, certainly, 
find something to praise. 

To pray seriously for her, and even to go so far 
as to ask God to love her and leave her with me. 

" I was so happy," wrote a woman, " that I felt 
myself growing better." 

Is there not here a secret for making people good 
by making them happy ? 

It is said that there is nothing which diffuses itself 
more quickly in a family than the "• coolness, indif- 
ference, and discontent " which manifest themselves 
in the countenance of one of its members. . . . 



GOLDEN SANDS. 15 

This thought is not absolutely true. There are 
some things which communicate themselves with as 
much rapidity and more force ; they are a "• bright 
smile, a frank and open manner, a cheerful face, a 
happy heart." 

THE LESSONS OF A DAISY. 

I saw her from a distance, poor child ! She ap- 
peared to be leaning pensively against the window, 
and holding in her hand a daisy, while she question- 
ingly and slowly despoiled it of its petals. 

What she wished to learn, I do not know ; I only 
heard her pale lips murmur these words, A little, a 
great deal, passionately, not at all, as each petal fell 
whirling to the ground at her feet. 

I watched her at a distance, and felt touched. 
Poor child ! why do you confide the troubles of your 
soul to a flower ? Have you no mother ? 

Why are you anxious about your future ? Have 
you not the good God, who prepares it for you with 
the same care that your mother, eighteen years ago, 
prepared your cradle ? 

And when the petals of the daisy were nearly 
gone, as the child's fingers rested on the last, and 
her lips reluctantly murmured, A little ! — an answer 
which Providence permitted — she let her arms fall 
discouraged by her side, and the poor child 
wept. 



1 6 GOLDEN SANDS. 

Why do you weep, my child? Does not this 
answer please you ? 

Let me — let me, in the name of the gracious 
daisy which you have just destroyed, give you a 
lesson from my vast experience. 

Was a great deal the answer you desired ? 

''A great deal'' of wit / It often makes us 
wicked, cruel, and unjust ; it causes tormenting 
jealousies, deceptions which spoil our triumphs, and 
a pride which is never satisfied. 

''A great deal'' of heart ! It often brings anxious 
troubles, weary suffering, bitter sorrows, . . . 
and sometimes leads to contempt of duty. 

''■A great deal" of attraction I It produces wear- 
ing vanity, overwhelming deception, an insatiable 
desire to please, a restless fear of being depreciated, 
and often a neglect of domestic duties. 

" A great deal" of fortune ! It often produces a 
wearing satiety, banishes calm and peaceful joys, 
deprives us of friendship, and makes us slaves to 
flattery. 

No, no, my child ; do not desire a great deal of 
any thing in this life, except, perhaps, oi forbearance 
a7td kindness. 

And if the good God has submitted you to the 
trial of *' a great deal" oh! pray to Him that it may 
not be your perdition ! 



GOLDEN SANDS. 17 

Was '^passionately " the answer you desired ? 

Passionately ! Oh ! what harm this word does ! 
There is something to make one tremble in the 
thought which it awakens. 

Passion is blind impulse, delirium, excess in all 
things. 

For you, my child, I would prefer the answer, 
** Not at ally' as applied to fortune, to outward 
charms, to all that the world calls success, glory y 
loveliness, 

I know well that is a hard answer which is inter- 
preted by continual privation y and which exacts hard 
and incessant labor to supply the necessities and 
wants of those we love. 

But let it not alarm you too much. God never 
disinherits one of His creatures to the point of letting 
him want for every thing. 

God may deprive a countenance of charms, a 
character of loveliness, a mind even of brilliant powers, 
but He never deprives the heart of all love, and with 
\h.Q. power of loving He gives also that of asking, ever 
promising to hear us. 

Now, my child, as long as we can love and pray, 
life has charms. 

In loving we devote ourselves ; and devotion 
renders one happy, even though it be not appre- 
ciated. 



1 8 GOLDEN SANDS. 

There remains, my child, only one more answer 
from the daisy ^ " a little,'' — the paternal reply which 
Providence sent to your childish curiosity. 

Accept it and make it the maxim of your life. 

A little, that is, a modicum of the goods of fortune, 
a position which promises the calmest life, destroys 
anxiety for the future, and, though doubtless exact- 
ing daily labor, permits sweet enjoyments from time 
to time. 

A little, that is, moderation in our desires, which 
leaves the soul happy in the possession of what it 
has, teaches it to draw therefrom all the profit pos- 
sible, and to repel those dreams of a more brilliant 
position, of a more extended reputation, of a more 
glorious name. 

A little, that is, of the heart's affection, regu- 
lated by duty, and re-animating that family circle 
around the hearth, which is composed of parents to 
love, pious friends to gladden, the poor to console, 
hearts to strengthen, and the sorrowing to comfort. 

A little, that is, a taste for all that is beautiful 
— literature, works of art, music, . . . not to 
the extent of giving us dreams of fame, but afford- 
ing mental enjoyments all the more keen when 
our obligation of daily labor renders them more 
rare. 

You see, my child, that " a little^' the reply which 



GOLDEN SANDS. 19 

the daisy made you, may still be a very beautiful 
portion, and you seemed to disdain it. 

* * 

I do not know what worldly entertainments leave 
in the heart of a young girl ; but I do know that 
children, the most innocent, the purest, the most 
transparent, after their appearance at these pleasures, 
have secrets from those who formerly read their 
hearts. 

The mother heretofore entered the heart of her 
child as she would her own ; it was always open to 
her. Now she must knock at the door, . . . 
and when she does attain entrance, she is no longer 
permitted to see every thing, and her visit seems all 
too long. 

Oh ! what have these worldly reunions put into 
this heart ? 

Poor child, poor mother ! 

From the moment that there exists a secret be- 
tween these two souls, which should understand 
each other, the child no longer possesses innocence, 
and the mother has lost her joy. 

The mind and the heart are like a house in which 
we take lodgers. They may be honest and quiet. 



20 GOLDEN SANDS. 

or, on the other hand, noisy and destructive, seek- 
ing only to spoil the dwelling which receives 
them. 

Let us beware, then, of the ideas to which we give 
hospitality ; let us not pick them up at random in 
any book or journal which falls into our hands. 
There are ideas which, once admitted, can be 
dislodged only with great difficulty. 

We are tempted to say sometimes that there is 
an evil spirit in things, which takes pleasure in 
spiting us, thwarting our desires, and resisting our 
will. The more petulant we show ourselves, the 
more irritating they become ; the more we wish to 
hasten, the more they persist in remaining hard and 
rebellious. 

Gentleness will cause us to look upon them kindly 
and touch them delicately ; . . . and this regard 
and this tact will, as it were, restore \}i\€\r good-nature. 

Who among us has not experienced this ? 

* 

Prove yourselves grateful. A grateful heart can 
never be a wicked heart. 

" I have read," relates L. Veuillot, " that one day 



GOLDEN SANDS, 21 

there came to heaven a little unknown soul, which 
entered immediately, without having undergone any 
fatigue, or shed a tear, or suffered a misfortune, or 
done any thing extraordinary. 

"■ The good God assigned it a very glorious place, 
and there was a murmur of astonishment in the 
assembly of the saints. 

" All looked toward the Guardian Angel who 
had brought the little soul. The angel bowed before 
God and obtained permission to speak to the heav- 
enly court, and from his lips with a sound lighter 
than the wings of the butterfly, there fell these words, 
which all heaven heard : 

" * This soul has always graciously taken its share 
of sunshine, of shadow, and of toil, and has never 
questioned any thing in which there was no offence 
against God. 

To-day is 2. furrow traced before us : our thoughts, 
our desires, our actions, our intentions, are the seeds 
which every moment, and often unconsciously, we 
drop into it. 

The furrow finished, we begin another, then an- 
other ; each day a new one opens, and so on to 

the end of life : . . . and we are always sow- 
ing. 



22 GOLDEN SANDS. 

And all that we have sown takes root, grows, 
and brings forth fruit without any further effort on 
our part. Even if we chance to look backward 
and behold these fruits, we do not recognize our 
work. 

And behind us the anofels and the devils, like 
reapers, gather in sheaves what belongs to them. 

They preserve it, and they will appear at the last 
day and lay it before the Master, 

Is there not food for reflection in this picture ? 

Joy is never sown upon earth but in a furrow 
traced by labor or sorrow. You who seek joy, 
begin to endure and to labor. 

Our calling, the calling of all of us, is that of the 
sower, and we are wanting in the performance of our 
duty when we permit a soul to pass near us without 
imparting a good thought or a pious impression. 

Nothing is more heart-rending than these words : 
" I am useless ! " Happily, we need never be useless ; 
a pious word, an act of kindness, a modest demeanor, 
an affectionate smile, are so many seeds which 
we can let fall each moment, and which always bear 
fruit. 

Happy those who have many about them ; they 
are rich proprietors ; they can sow in many fields. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 23 

A LITTLE RECIPE FOR THE USE OF PERSONS DESTINED 
TO LIVE TOGETHER. 

I, 

" You love each other, do you not ? " 

** Yes, but — " 

''But— what? " 

'* Oh, he has a good, a very good heart, but if you 
knew what a trying disposition ! For three years 
now I have struggled and prayed and scolded, but 
alas — " 

" Three years ! if for three years you had tried 
my recipey you would no longer feel the asperities of 
his disposition, you would not even suspect that 
there were thorns about this affectionate heart." 

" Is there, then, a recipe ? " 

" Yes, and one so simple that I hesitate to give it 
to you. Instead of struggling against your poor 
friend, struggle against yourself ; instead of praying 
so much that he may correct what does not depend 
upon his will to change, pray for yourself that you 
may become better ; instead of weeping, smile, come 
what may ; in a word, diminish the number of your 
own faults, and become saintly, 

" A saint, a real saint is patient ; and patience is 
like the woollen garments in which we clothe our- 
selves in winter, that we may not feel the cold. 



24 GOLDEN SANDS. 

Have you ever dreamed of preventing the weather 
from being cold ? 

*' A saint v^ gentle ; and gentleness is the soft bul- 
wark with which sanctity surrounds us to blunt the 
edge of sharp or unjust words which might rend 
our hearts. 

"• To labor for the amendment of others is often 
difficult and even impossible ; to labor upon our- 
selves is always possible and, I add, always effica- 
cious !' 

"■ But is it not difficult to be a saint? " 

"• We have only to let the good God do with us 
simply as He wills, be a docile instrument in His 
hands." 

Would you know the name of some little creatures 
so agreeable that even the most wicked persons 
never think of repulsing them — occupying so little 
space, and so unimportunate, that they never pre- 
vent the perfect accomplishment of duty, but rather 
make it easier ? 

They are called acts of kindness. 

Every heart, even the poorest, if it will remain 
innocent, can produce them. 

They escape from it like bees from a hive — -not 
like them, seeking honey that they may hoard it, but 



GOLDEN SANDS. 25 

bearing each one his portion of honey that they 
may deposit it in another heart. 

A good heart is always strong; it suffers, but it 
hides its tears, and seeks consolation by devoting 
itself to others. 

Is it just to forget all the kindness done us by 
those with whom we live for a little pain which, after 
all, may have been given unintentionally ? 

THE ANGEL OF LITTLE SACRIFICES. 
II. 

Have you never seen her at work ? 

Have you never at least felt her influence? 

In every Christian family and in all pious com- 
munities, as the image of His providence in the 
household, God has placed the angel of little sacri- 
fices, trying to remove all the thorns, to lighten all 
the burdens, to share all the fatigues. 

She has for her motto these gracious words of an 
amiable saint : Good makes no noise, and noise effects 
no good. 

Thus she is like a ray of sunlight, lighting, w^arm- 
ing, giving life to all, but inconveniencing no one. 

We feel that she is with us, because we no longer 
experience those misunderstandings of heretofore. 



26 GOLDEN SANDS. 

those rancorous thoughts, those deliberate coolnesses 
which spoil family life ; because we no longer hear 
those sharp, rude words which wound so deeply ; 
because affectionate sentiments mount readily from 
the heart to the lips, and life is sweeter. 

Who, then, has absorbed that self-love which 
would not yield ; that egotism which mingled with 
the most sincere friendship ; that self-indulgence, in 
fine, which always sought ease ? 

The angel of little sacrifices has received from 
heaven the mission of those angels of whom the 
prophet speaks, who removed the stones from the 
road, lest they should bruise the feet of travellers. 

And that of the angels who, according to the 
simple legend of the first Christians, scattered rose- 
leaves 'neath the feet of Jesus and Mary in their 
flight into Egypt. . . . 

But, like them, she is oftener invisible ; she does 
her work in secret. 

There is a place less commodious than another ; 
she chooses it, saying with a sweet smile, how com- 
fortable I am here ! 

There is some work to be done, and she presents 
herself for it simply with the joyous manner of one 
who finds her happiness in so doing. 



GOLDEN SANDS 27 

It is an object of trifling value, of which she de- 
prives herself to give to her who the evening before 
has manifested a desire to possess one like it. 

How many oversights repaired by this unknown 
hand! 

How many neglected things put in their places, 
without our seeing how they came there ! 

How many little joys procured for another without 
his ever having mentioned to any one the happiness 
which they would give him ! 

Who has known thus how to do good in secret ? 
Who has known how to divine the secrets of the 
heart ? 

Does a dispute arise ? She knows how to settle 
it by a pleasant word which wounds no one, and 
falls upon the slight disturbance like a ray of sunlight 
upon a cloud. 

Should she hear of two hearts estranged, she has 
always new means of reuniting them without their 
being able to show her any gratitude, so sweet, 
simple, and natural is what she does. 

But who will tell the thorns which have torn her 
hands, the pain her heart has endured, the humilia- 
tions her charity has borne ? 

And yet she is always smiling. 



28 GOLDEN SANDS. 

Does sacrifice give her joy ? 

Have you never seen her at work, the angel of 
little sacrifices ? 

On earth she is called a mother, a friend, a sister, 
a wife. 

In heaven she is called a saint. 

Listen to the charming words which a mother 
overheard on the lips of her children. 

They were two, a brother and sister, seated before 
an open book. The little brother wearily regarded 
the page which he was to learn by heart, and the 
sister, a little older, seated at his side with some 
sewing in her hand, was charged to urge him to his 
task. 

'* Come, study, Paul ! " 

** Oh, do you not see, I can't ! . . . But it is 
not my fault ; I can do nothing when I am not in 
the humor!' 

" Not in the humor ! Then you should put your- 
self in the humor." 

" I do not know how." 

" Because you wish to work all alone!' 

*' How, all alone f " 

" Yes ; without the good God, Oh ! it is very 



GOLDEN SANDS. 29 

wrong to withdraw the good God from all that we 
do ! It is the way now, it seems ; but it is a very- 
bad way. Papa says that nothing, absolutely noth- 
ing, either in the family or in the country, should be 
done without God. We may appear to succeed ; but 
it would be like erecting a column without first put- 
ting a large stone to support it ; it would fall." 

♦ 

Let no one misunderstand what we ask. It is 
neither flattery nor compliments y but a few simple 
words : a "■ Thank you!' for example, accompanied 
by a pressure of the hand or an affectionate glance. 

How imtch pleasure yozc give me I How much 
trouble yoic take for me ! I love to have you. do any 
thing for me — you. do it so heartily and so well I 
How kind you are I 

Any of those thousand heart-felt expressions 
which we never v/rite and never search for — they 
escape us impulsively when we are touched and 
moved. 

We have seen workmen whose only object 
seemed to be money, weep with joy upon hearing 
one of those expressions uttered in accents of sin- 
cerity which could not be doubted. 

LITTLE MISERIES. 

There is not one of our days in which we do not 



30 GOLDEN SANDS. 

every moment wound ourselves with a multitude of 
little thorns which we cannot avoid. 

They do not make deep wounds, but these slight 
scratches repeated every day poison the character, 
so to speak, destroy our peace, excite a restless 
humor, and make very hard family life which should 
be sweet and calm. 

These are the little miseries which life brings in its 
course. 

Each hour deposits its own, as each drop of water 
which flows over the prairie to make it fruitful and 
flourishing deposits a little slime. 

Would you know some of these miseries ? 
An impatience which betrays itself before a person 
whose esteem we would retain. A servant who 
serves us badly, who irritates us by her slowness, 
who annoys us by her habitual forgetfulness, who 
mortifies us before others by her awkwardness. 

A giddy, awkward child who breaks a valuable 
object which we prize for its association ; an im- 
portunate person who makes us miss a business 
appointment ; a carriage which bespatters a garment 
we are wearing for the first time ; a workman who 
makes us wait the execution of a pressing order 
which we had counted upon ; time which delays or 
prevents something which we have long planned ; a 
visit which we cannot refuse, and which takes from 



GOLDEN SANDS. 31 

US absolutely necessary time or wearies all our facul- 
ties by its insipidity. 

Forgetting an important commission that we have 
been charged with, which will make us appear im- 
polite, or even slightly ungrateful. 

The loss of a note or some object actually neces- 
sary to us, the importance of which our imagination 
exaggerates. 

The preseiice of a person that we live with, 
whose sour, discontented disposition never finds 
any thing well done. 

The eternal repetition of the same stories or com- 
plaints which we must submit to with an attentive 
manner every evening. 

The levity of one we love, who does not under- 
stand our delicate attentions for her. . . . 

When the evening comes, and we have not 
undergone all these contradictions let us thank God. 
" All these and many more we can meet every day." 

WHAT IS TO BE DONE WITH THESE LITTLE MISERIES ? 

Await them. Perhaps it would be an excellent 
practice each morning at your prayers to read this 
list, which each one could prolong as it suited him, 
and then say simply to your soul : *' Behold thy 
part ; dost thou accept it willingly ? Oh ! yes, since 
the good God sends it to me." 



32 GOLDEN SANDS. 



And then, . . . these i"^;;^^ 7;^/i"^r/^i' examined 
quietly, what are they ? Ah ! if no others existed. 
Prepare for them. If you wish that even a violent 
blow should not injure a body upon which it falls, 
make the body pliable ; it will yield under the pres- 
sure, but it will resume its former shape. Let it be 
the same with our souls ; accustom yourself, says a 
pious author, to yield with a sweet condescension, 
not only to exigencies (that is a duty), but to the 
simple desires of those about you and to unforeseen 
accidents, and you will be rarely disturbed. 

A sure means of overcoming a dislike which we 
entertain for any one is to do him a little kindness 
every day ; and the way to overcome a dislike which 
another may feel toward us is to say some little kind 
word of him every day, 

" Show me a soul which long retains the remem- 
brance of a trifling favor, which seems never to have 
paid the debts of its heart, which exaggerates its 
obligations to others, which estimates them at twenty 
times their value ; ... in my opinion that soul 
is infinitely more likely to become a saint than if it 
was raised in ecstasy during prayer." 



GOLDEN SANDS. 2>2> 

If you wish to be loved, to be esteemed, if you wish 
that your faults should be imperceptible, be not only 
kind in actions, but in words also — praise sometimes. 

Amiability is the sunshine of the soul, which 
causes smiles to bloom on the lips, and expands the 
heart, as the rays of the sun open the buds of the 
rose. 

Amiability is the kind word which revives, reani- 
mates, consoles, and strengthens, as the dew revives, 
refreshes, and colors the withering plant. 

Amiability is grace of manner, easy deportment, 
a peaceful countenance, the kindly glance which 
communicates itself even from one member of the 
family to all the others, as the perfume of a single 
flower extends over all the meadow where it blooms. 

Amiability is in its nature excessively contagious ; 
with an amiable person we necessarily become 
amiable, or we fly from her and hide ourselves. 

Amiability is not a virtue apart ; either it sup- 
poses all other virtues, or the constant practice of it 
gradually attracts and preserves them in the amiable 
soul. 

* 

If you are teaching a piece of work, if you are 
laboring at the same employment with others, never 



34 GOLDEN SANDS. 

ridicule one who is awkward. If he be so from 
want of intelligence, your ridicule is far from chari- 
table ; if from want of instruction, it is exceedingly 
unjust. Correct his awkwardness kindly, show him 
how he should do his work, and God, who sees you 
and is pleased with your patience, will tell one of 
His angels to aid you in your moments of difficulty. 

THE COMPANION OF THE JOURNEY. 

A virtuous youth of pure and tender heart, of 
generous soul and energetic will, set out alone on 
the rude journey of life. He went forth with an 
aching heart and hidden tears. He pressed his 
hand on his breast to stop its throbbing, and dared 
not look back upon the home he was leaving, lest he 
should be overcome. 

In that home dwelt his mother. She had said to 
him ; *' Go, my child, it is necessary. ... In a 
few years thou wilt return to thy aged mother, who 
will await thee in solitude at the fireside of thy in- 
fancy, and thou wilt make her last days happy. 

*' Would I might accompany thee, my child, for it 
is not well for man to go alone. I cannot. Seek, 
then, a friend to accompany thee in thy journey. 

'* Youth is attractive ; many will present them- 
selves ; choose, my child, and may this companion 



GOLDEN SANDS. 35 

be for thee the angel which preserved Tobias inno- 
cent and brought him back to his aged parents." 

** But whom must I choose, mother, and what is 
the name of the friend you wish for me ? " 

And the mother, embracing her child for the last 
time, whispered a name softly in his ear, and added 
several times : " Him alone ! him alone ! my child." 

" I promise, mother." 

He set forth alone on the rude journey of life, 
and as he journeyed there passed before him a 
luminous apparition, and he heard a voice saying : 

" Dost thou wish me for the companion of thy 
journey ? " 

'' How art thou called ? " 

** I am Glory!' 

" It is not the name my mother whispered to me ; 
pass on thy way." 

And farther on his feet seemed to glide over the 
green turf, and his weary limbs to forget their fatigue. 
A voice soft as the breeze of the morning, and sweet 
as the words of a mother to her child, was heard : 

" Dost thou wish me for the companion of thy 
journey ? " 

*' How art thou called? " 

" I am Affection!' 

" It is not the name my mother whispered ; pass 
on thy way." 

And going a little farther, a sweet trembling 



36 GOLDEN SANDS. 

thrilled through his whole being, and a voice soft as 
the song of the shepherd in the valley was heard : 

" Dost thou wish me for the companion of thy 
journey ? " 

** How art thou called ? " 

" I am Pleasure y 

*'It is not the name my mother whispered ; pass 
on thy way." 

And as the evening drew near, and the traveller 
was more sad than in the morning because of the 
loneliness of the day, he suddenly experienced a 
feeling of strength unknown to him, and a tender but 
strong voice was heard : 

*'Dost thou wish me for the companion of thy 
journey?" 

*' How art thou called ? " 

"■ I am Duty!' 

"Oh! come with me, come with me. Thine is 
the name my mother whispered." 

And some years later this youth returned, still 
pure, tender, and virtuous, with generous soul and 
energetic will. 

And to his mother, who awaited him at her lonely 
fireside, he brought comfort for her declining years. 

If habit makes saints, it also makes sinners. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 37 

Yes, little by little, we are saved or we are lost, and, 
having reached the gate of glory or that of the 
abyss, we exclaim, '' So soon ! " 

The point of departure is imperceptible ; it is the 
little flake of snow, which, falling to the earth, 
seemed ready to melt, but, having rolled upon other 
flakes, has grown to be a threatening mass which is 
about to crush us. 

Oh ! if from one sin I try to go back to the desire 
which provoked the act, to the thought which pro- 
duced the desire, to the occasion which gave rise to 
the thought, I would find but a trifle, something 
almost imperceptible — a word of double meaning 
which I heard with a smile ; a useless explanation 
which I sought simply through curiosity ; an indif- 
ferent glance caused, I know not why, though my 
conscience told me to withhold it ; a prayer omitted 
because it inconvenienced me, and in its place I did 
something which pleased me ; a moment of work 
which I abandoned to follow some vague Image 
passing through my mind. 

Eight days after the same accident is renewed, a 
little more prolonged — remorse, stifled, becomes 
extinct. Eight days after — Alas ! let us stop here ; 
each one can finish the story for himself. . . . 
The practical conclusion Is easily drawn. 



38 GOLDEN SANDS. 

To have no one to render happy — no aged father 
to care for, no friend to share one's heart or one's 
riches, no afflicted to console, no child or ignorant 
to instruct, no blessing to ask of Heaven for one 
dearer than ourselves. To have nothing but self 

. . . always self . . . the only object of 
our thoughts, of our efforts, of our labors — how 
hard, how sad it is ! 

Whenever we have to establish new relations with 
any one, let us make an ample provision *' of pardon, 
of indulgence, of kindness," and "let our aim be to 
render him happy." 

Purity expands, brightens the soul, and promotes 
its growth — it is its spring-time. 

Vice contracts, saddens, and withers it : it is the 
winter, or perhaps the breath of the devil who passes. 

RECIPES FOR NEVER WEARYING FRIENDS. 

This recipe was composed by a person whose 
life was for a long time tormented, spoiled, poisoned 
by the minute care and attention lavished upon her 
by the too ardent affection of a sincerely devoted 
but indiscreet relative. 

There is a medium in all things, even in the 
manifestation of affection, even in the bestowal of 
kind attentions, even in the removal of little miseries. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 39 

This recipe has but four very clear and very precise 
articles. Here they are : 

1. I will always leave my friend still something to 
desire. If he begs me to come to see him three 
times, I will go twice. He will dream at night of my 
third visit, and will receive me the more cordially on 
the morrow. It is so pleasant to feel one's self 
wanted, and very hard to fear one's self importunate ! 

* 

2. I will serve my friend as far as he wishes y but no 
more. An officious friendship is always inconvenient, 
and a prodigality of even the most beautiful senti- 
ments becomes insupportable. Devotion does not 
consist in doing for one's friend all that can be 
done, but simply in doing all that may be agreeable or 
usefod to himy and further we must let him discover 
for himself, rather than show him what we do. As 
we all passionately love our liberty we hold to our 
little eccentricities ; we do not like to have that ar- 
ranged with too much order which we naturally leave 
a little out of order; we would not even have too 
much care taken of us. 

* * 
* 

3. I will busy myself with my own affairs y and a little 
with those of my friend y but very little. This rule will in- 
fallibly result usefully. First of all, by busying myself 



40 GOLDEN SANDS. 



with my own affairs I will complete them, and afford 
my friend an opportunity to do the same with his, 
and each will be satisfied. If he call me to his assist- 
ance I will go through fire to help him ; but if he 
does not call me I will feel that I am obliging him 
infinitely and myself as well by not interfering in any 
way. If, however, I can help him without his knowl- 
edge, when I perceive that he would not ask me, I 
shall always do it. 

4. I will allow my friend the liberty to think and act 
as he pleases in things indifferent. Why should I force 
him to think and act with me ? Am I a type of the 
good and beautiful "t And is it not absurd to imagine 
that another thinks and acts ill, the moment he differs 
from me? Doubtless I shall not always assure him 
that he is right, but I shall generally permit him to 
believe so. 

Try this recipe, and I assure you you will keep 
your friends a long time. 

Let us beware in our family life of '' prejudice." 
Many women have the talent unconsciously of set- 
ting themselves in the '' most headstrong manner " 
against a member of their family. 

And why ? They can hardly say, for the cause is 



GOLDEN SANDS. 41 

never very definite whence comes all the harm. It 
is an '' air of indifference " which they believe they 
have detected, and which was the result of an 
anxiety which could not be confided to them. It is 
a " word " which they have heard or wrongly inter- 
preted, because at the moment they were discontent- 
ed and disposed to see things in a false light. 

It is a " report " to which they should have given 
no attention, without at least affording to the person 
it concerned an immediate opportunity to explain. 

They become indifferent themselves, uncommu- 
nicative, suspicious, spying, misinterpreting the 
least gesture ; . . . then after a few days comes 
a coolness, justified by the thought that they are no 
longer loved ; . . . then follows disdain, then 
contempt, then a species of hatred which corrodes 
the heart. . . . 

And all this silently grows in the soul, and oh, 
how hard and bitter it makes family life ! They 
console, or rather justify, themselves by saying : 
'' How I suffer! " never dreaming to add, ''What 
suffering I cause others ! " Where does the fault 
lie ? In a want of simplicity and confidence. 

Let it pass ! Oh, how many souls, on the point 
of being disturbed and troubled, these simple words 
have left serene and peaceful ! 



42 GOLDEN SANDS. 

Something has wounded us by its want of delicacy. 
" Let it pass " ; no one will think any more of it. 

A bitter or unjust word irritates us. "• Let it 
pass " ; he from whom it escaped will be only too 
happy to see that we have forgotten it. 

A painful report is going to separate us from an 
old friend. ** Let it pass," and we will preserve the 
peace of our souls and holy charity. 

A suspicious manner is on the point of affecting 
our friendship. *' Let it pass" ; our confiding coun- 
tenance will win back confidence. . . . 

How is it that we are so careful to remove the 
thorns from our path lest they should wound us, 
and yet we can take pleasure in gathering and 
burying in our hearts the thorns that we encounter 
in the family circle ? 

Surely we are very unreasonable. 

A school-girl's dream. 

It was very cold ; the wind moaned through the 
leafless trees in the court. 

I was warmly tucked in bed, and I remember I 
murmured a prayer as I thought of the many poor 
little children, less fortunate than I, who were suffer- 
ing and weeping at this hour. 

And I thought I saw advancing an old man, bend- 
ing under a heavy mantle of snow which enveloped 



GOLDEN SANDS, 43 

him : he had a crown of icicles on his head, and rings 
of hoar-frost on every finger, and his lips were blue. 

As he walked, there fell from his mantle, from his 
long beard, and from his hands, flakes of snow which 
accumulated in a white heap around my couch. 

** Who are you ? " I cried, trembling with cold and 
terror. 

** Do not be alarmed, little one," replied the old 
man, slowly. " I am Winter, and I came this even- 
ing to make my entrance in the school before going 
through the streets and other dwellings." 

As he spoke his icy breath reached me and chilled 
me. I paid no attention to it ; and calling to mind 
the prayer I had said before sleeping for the unfortu- 
nate, I joined my trembling hands and said to him : 

*' Oh ! as you are here, Lord Winter, let me plead 
with you, not for us who have warm clothing and 
fires in our class-rooms, but for those who want for 
every thing. Lord Winter, do not be too severe. 

" Hear not those who ask a great deal of snow, 
in order to display their handsome furs. 

" Hear not those who ask for a sharp and biting 
atmosphere, simply with the vain desire of seeing 
large fires burning on their hearths, and of giving 
brilliant soirees. 

" Think of the garrets without fire, where a poor 
widow courageously works night and day. 



44 GOLDEN SANDS. 

" Think of the bed, destitute of covering, where a 
poor, sick old man shivers with cold. 

'* Think of the poor consumptives, with their 
weary cough, to whom the cold does so much harm. 

'' Spare the little children in the street, singing 
their little songs, and holding out hands red and 
swollen with the frost. 

" Spare also the good God's little birds who die 
of cold." 

The old man smilingly replied : 

" Alas ! alas ! child ; my route is traced, and my 
mission fixed in advance. The grain of wheat waits 
my coming to ripen in the earth, which I cover with 
snow ; the tree calls me to destroy the insects which 
in the spring would destroy its roots ; the atmos- 
phere itself asks that I should purify it from the 
miasmas of summer ; and it is to repair the involun- 
tary evil caused by my passage that I have come to 
you." 

And his stiff hand drew aside the curtain of the 
future, and I saw a profusion of brilliant things — 
books, toys, bonbons — above which I read these 
words : Christmas presents for the poor. 

But the clock struck, and I awoke with a start, and 
my first thought was, Yes^ yes ; I will share my 
Christmas presents with the poor and the sick, 

* 



GOLDEN SANDS. 45 

A charity of which few people think is the alms 
of happiness. 

What sweeter enjoyment than to confer a little 
happiness upon those who are near us ? 

What occupation easier or more amiable than to 
endeavor to make those around us happy ? 

Happiness is one of those gifts which one can 
bestow without being conscious that he possesses it 
himself. Each one has in the depths of his heart 
something like 2. provision in reserve. . . . We 
cannot always know how to make use of it for our- 
selves. We can always give it to others, and by 
such alms - giving with pure intentions — oh, how 
easily we are saved! Has not God promised to 
render unto us all that we do for others ? 

The little coin of happiness which even the poorest 
possesses, and with which we can incessantly give 
alms, is graciousness in receiving a request, a visit, 
or an annoyance. 

It is the habitual smile which naturally escapes 
from the lips, and sympathetically produces a smile 
on the lips of others. 

It is a service graciously rendered, sometimes 
simply asked. 

It is a sincere acknowledgment of services in simple 
words; it is a word of approbation, given in an 
affectionate tone, to one who has labored near us 
and with us. 



46 GOLDEN SANDS, 

Oh, It is so little, so very little, all this ! Do not 
refuse it ; God will return it to you. 

A good thought propagated is an angel who goes, 
in the name and to the profit of him who sends it, 
to do good everywhere it has the mission to pene- 
trate. 

You wish to accomplish some works of mercy^ 
which are so sweet to the soul and so meritorious 
for heaven — to give alms, for example. . . . But 
you are poor ; se7td a good thought which will simply 
tell of the happiness of giving , and, guided by Provi- 
dence, it will penetrate to the soul of some person, 
who, being moved, will give largely of his abun- 
dance, and the good God will have two people to 
reward — the one who gave and the one who inspired 
the alms. 

You would like to visit the prisoners and the sick, 
to console those who weep, to speak of the good God 
to little children who do not know Him, . . . 
but your duty keeps you within the narrow precincts 
of a cell, a room, or a family ; send a good thotight 
which will tell of God's goodness, which will speak 
of the happiness and the merit of suffering, which 
will show how in a few days it is followed by the 



GOLDEN SANDS. 47 

sweet repose of Paradise, . . . and this thought 
will give birth to hope, a smile, an act of love, . . 
. and God will be indebted to you for a soul that 
perhaps had forgotten Him. 

Good advice is more precious than gold ; a tender 
word, a tear, a prayer is more precious than good 
advice, 

THE BIRD CHARMER. 

He was an old man with a gentle, kind face, a 
calm expression, and a restful smile. 

Little birds flew about him flapping their wings 
and giving little joyous chirps. 

They came and went, lighting upon the old man's 
head, then upon his shoulder, or upon the ground at 
his feet to take the crumbs he was scattering for 
them ; others bolder than the rest lit upon his hand 
and fed from his fingers. 

And you could see that the good old man was 
happy in their confidence, happier still perhaps to 
do good. 

A child, marvelling at the tameness of the birds, 
said to her mother : 

** But what does he give to attract them ? " 

" Only bread." 

" Bread ! Oh, I '11 give them cake ; how they will 
flock about me ! " 



48 GOLDEN SANDS. 

And drawing quite near the charmer the child 
began to scatter crumbs of cake, beckoning to the 
birds and calling, " Birdie, little birdie! " 

The timid birds took flight. 

The disappointed little one followed them with 
her eyes, murmuring : '' Yet I gave them cake!' 

" My child," the old man said gently, "• to win 
birds, to win hearts to us, it is not sufficient to give 
them good thmgs; we must give i7i a way which will 
please them!' 

Is not this a lesson for us at the beginning of a 
new year of Golden Sands ? 

It is not merely for diversion, nor even for the 
sweet and at the same time allowable pleasure of 
finding them looked for and welcomed, that we 
publish these little leaves. We have a mission to 
fulfil, and, to fulfil this mission, oh that we were 
charmers to attract hearts^ to attract souls^ that we 
might bring them to Thee, my God I 

THEY SAY. 

There are two words so short that they are uttered 
before reflection has time to repress them. 

So light that they flutter from mouth to mouth, 
without our even knowing from whose lips they 
came. 

So powerful that they justify slander, authorize , 










in pj' w 



GOLDEN SANDS. 49 

calumny, reassure the most timorous consciences, and 
circulate without contradiction the gosssip which 
destroys reputations and prepares the ruin and 
despair of families. 

So wicked that they rob youth of its joys, old age 
of its dignity and repose, loving hearts of their 
frank confidence, and nearly every one of a portion 
of his happiness. 

So loved that they find access to every house. 
No reunion is without them ; they are found, indeed, 
in places from which it would seem their wickedness 
should exclude them. 

So sprightly that they animate conversation, de- 
velop the most obtuse intelligence, furnish subjects 
of interminable gossip to the most taciturn persons. 

They are called : '* They say." 

*' They say " serves as a mask to a family spectre, 
to those phantoms which formerly came in the night 
to trouble the sleep and suck the blood of their 
victims. 

It is not blood that he sucks, this monster hidden 
under these two words, " they say'' ; it is honor. 

Let it present itself under its true form : Such a 
one did such a thing, ... It will be repulsed 
by every honest person, and, if it be told at all, it 
will be in secret lest a proof of the calumny be 
demanded. 



so GOLDEN SANDS. 

But why should it hide itself under this mask, 
** they say " f 

Who is responsible ? Is it the first person 
who made the fatal revelation ? No one knows 
him. 

Could we not exorcise this terrible and indefati- 
gable demon ? 

We could, if falsehood, malice, hatred, and the 
petty ranklings of vanity were replaced in the human 
heart by truth, justice, kindness, and love of our 
neighbor. ... 

But, alas ! this happy time will never come, and to 
the end of the world the demon of slander and 
calumny will reign under its perfidious mask, ''they 
say,'' 

What we can do is never to receive it. 

Come together, honest, loyal hearts, and resolve : 

1. Never to utter these hypocritical words, " they 
say,'' hiding as they do perhaps the dishonor of a 
family. 

2. To stop from the first the person who pro- 
nounces them, asking simply. Who is this mysterious 
personage. They? 

3. Never to believe what reaches you through this 
messenger, ''they say!' who makes a profession of 
lying, while laughing to himself at the credulous 
dupes of his falsehoods. 



GOLDEN SANDS, 



51 



But, 

Still another of those wicked little words which fall 
on the reputation like a drop of corrosive poison on 
a delicate face — which penetrate and hide themselves 
in the soul, like a thorn or a steel point burying itself 
in the flesh. 

We have branded that other expression, they say 
— they say, that sovereign of the world despised 
everywhere, and everywhere listened to, that 
messenger of false news, that scourer of the high- 
way, that peddler of gossip, that destroyer of friend- 
ships. 

But is more hypocritical, and consequently more 
treacherous. 

But does more evil, because it says less : it leaves 
you to suspect more, for it only shows itself sweetly 
after a compliment. 

But is the contradiction which irritates and destroys 
all harmony. 

But is the opposition which raises the storm. 

But is the suspicion which begets distrust. 

But is the icy breath which cools affection and 
arrests devotion. 

They say, no doubt, is sometimes uttered ma- 
liciously ; but it most frequently springs from 
heedlessness and thoughtlessness. 

Btit is the servant of jealousy. Listen : ** That 
person has real merit, but "... 



52 GOLDEN SANDS. 

Of cavilling : "• You are right, but'' , . . 

Of spitefulness : *' That person would succeed, 
dul . . . She would be an excellent friend, 3ul" 
• • • 

Of laziness and selfishness .• *' I would like to be 
of service to you, btW . . . 

Oi hypocrisy : " She is more clever than I, even 
more intelligent, but "... 

Oh ! when will w^e be frank, saying of what is 
good, it is good ; of what is beautiful, it is beautiful, 
without adding any modification ? 

When will we possess a liberal mind, looking 
fairly at the good and beautiful before us, without 
seeking by sidelong glances to discover a crooked 
line, coloring a little too deep, a slightly inhar- 
monious sentence ? 

Why should you suspect evil intentions against 
you ? Do you not know the thought disturbs you 
and creates an evil disposition ? 

* 

Restrain that mocking smile about to show itself 
upon your lips ; it will pain him who is the occasion 
of it. Why give pain to others ? 

* 



GOLDEN SANDS. 53 

A QUARTER OF AN HOUR BEFORE THE BLESSED 

SACRAMENT. 
JESUS. 

My child, it is not necessary '' to know much " in 
order to please me ; it suffices ** that you love me 
much." 

Speak to me as you would to your mother, if she 
were here and pressed you to her heart. Is there 
no one you wish to recommend to me ? Tell me 
the names of your relations, your friends ; after each 
name add what you would like to have me do for 
them. . . . Ask a great deal. I love generous 
hearts who forget themselves for others. 

Speak to me of the poor whom you would comfort, 
of the sick you have seen suffer, of the erring ones 
you would convert, of the persons who are estranged 
from you and whose affection you wish to regain. 
For all say a fervent prayer. Remind me that I 
have promised to hear every prayer that comes from 
the heart ; and are not prayers heart- felt which we 
say for those we love and who love us ? 

** Have you no graces to ask for yourself?" 
Write, if you wish, a long list of your desires, of the 
wants of your soul, and come and read it to me. 

Tell me with simplicity how self-indulgent you are, 



54 GOLDEN SANDS. 

how proud, how irritable, how selfish, how cowardly, 
how lazy, . . . and ask me to come to your aid 
in the efforts which you are making. Poor child, do 
not blush : there are many saints in heaven who had 
your faults, but they prayed to me, and little by little 
they corrected them. 

Hesitate no less to ask me for the gifts of body 
and mind — *' health, memory, success." ... I 
can grant every thing, and I always give when the 
favors asked will render souls more holy. To-day 
what do you wish, my child ? If you knew how 
desirous I am to do you good ! 

Have you no plans which occupy 5''ou ? Tell them 
to me in detail. Is it something about your vocation ? 
Of what are you thinking ? What do you wish ? Is 
it a pleasure you have in store for your mother, your 
family, or those upon whom you are dependent ? 
What do you wish to do for them ? 

And for me — have you no thoughts of zeal, or do 
you not wish to effect a little good in the souls of 
your friends, those who love you, and perhaps are 
forgetful of me? Tell me all that interests you. 
What is the motive which influences you ? what are 
the means you wish to employ? 

Make known to me your failures ; I will show you 



GOLDEN SANDS. 55 

the cause of them. . . . Whom do you wish to 
interest in your work? I am the master of hearts, 
my child, and I lead them gently where I will. . . . 
I will give you all that you need ; be at rest. 

Have you annoyances ? O my child, relate them 
to me minutely ! Who has given you pain ? Who 
has wounded your self-love ? Who has treated you 
with contempt ? Tell me ally and you will end by 
adding that you forgive and forget, . . . and I 
will bless you ! . . . 

Do you fear some trial ? 

Is there in your soul a vague fear which, though 
unreasonable, torments you ? Confide fully in my 
Providence. ... I am with you, I see all, I will 
not abandon you. 

Are there hearts about vou less kind than hereto- 
fore, or who, through indifference or neglect, are 
estranged from you, though you are unconscious of 
having done any thing to wound them ? • . . . 
Pray to me for them, and I will restore them to you, 
if they are useful to your sanctification. 

Have you no happiness to make known to me ? 
Why not make me a sharer in your joys ? Tell me 
all that has come to you since yesterday — to console 
you, to gladden you, to bring you joy. Was it an 



56 GOLDEN SANDS. 

unexpected visit which did you good, a fear which 
was suddenly dissipated, a success which you were 
fearful of falling to obtain, a mark of affection, a letter, 
a souvenir which you have received, a trial that left 
you stronger than you supposed ? ... It was 
I, my child, who sent you all this. Why do you not 
prove yourself grateful, saying frequently : / thank 
thee f Gratitude draws more favors, and the Bene- 
factor loves to be reminded of his bounty. 

Have you no promises to make to me ? You 
know I read the depths of your heart. Men 
may be deceived, but God never ; be, then, sincere. 
. . . Are you resolved to no longer expose your- 
self to the occasion of sin ? to deprive yourself of 
that object which does you harm ? to read no longer 
books which excite your Imagination ? to withdraw 
your friendship from that person who Is not pious, 
and whose presence disturbs the peace of your soul ? 
Will you immediately be kind to that companion who 
has wounded you ? . . . Well, my child, . . . 
go now, resume your daily labors ; be silent, modest, 
resigned, charitable ; love the Blessed Virgin, and 
return to-morrow with a heart still more devoted 
and loving, and I will have new favors for you. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 57 

Do you remember that old story of a young man 
with bent head standing on the border of a vast 
piece of ground which he had to cultivate, dis- 
couraged and murmuring : " I can never do it ; it is 
too large " ? 

*' My son," said his father, *' you have not all 
this field to plough. Do you see this little corner 
marked by a slight ridge ? That is all your task of 
to-day ; only occupy yourself with that." 

Let us apply these wise words to the hours which 
divide our day, and which are so many distinct por- 
tions of land that we have to plough, and sow, and 
with the harvest purchase heaven. 

Why look in the morning at this long work of an 
entire day, which we perhaps will not accomplish, 
and which our imagination peoples with difficulties ? 
Let us only look at this little space which God limits 
by a half hour, and let us only think of sowing well 
this little corner. 

Is it too much ? Let us limit ourselves still more, 
and live a quarter of an hour at a time. 

Who, then, can fail to accomplish perfectly for 
one quarter of an hour the duty which is prescribed 
him ? to bear for one quarter of an hour the troubles 
which God sends us drop by drop ? to be patient, to 
pray fervently, to work with constancy for one 
quarter of an hour f 



58 GOLDEN SANDS. 

Each minute is like the mesh which in the evening 
must form a cloth woven of the thousand-and-one 
duties of the day : " prayer, labor, repose, devotion, 
patience." . . . 

One mesh is certainly little, very little, in a web, 
but the web is only beautiful because each mesh is 
well done. 

And if you, the good God's workman, let one fall 
through indifference — if through spite you make 
another crooked ; if through vanity you weave a third 
other than the Master orders — what confusion when 
evening comes, and God, surveying minute by 
minute ** your unfolded day," will see there "vacant 
spaces, defects," alas ! perhaps "■ culpable designs." 

In order that life may be good and pleasant, occu- 
pation should surround and enter it, as the air 
surrounds and penetrates the body. 

To be without some tcseful occupation which, out- 
side our great duties, will fill all those little moments 
when we are alone, is to slowly plant within ourselves 
the-seed of a discontent which will end by destroying 
our cheerfulness, weakening our virtue, and embit- 
tering our character. 

It would seem that a person who has noble 
thoughts, who says nothing ungracious, who is 
assiduous in her hours of work, and faithful to the 



GOLDEN SANDS, 59 

demands of her position, needed nothing more to 
make her life good and useful. But no ; her life 
with all this is not sufficiently useful, nor conse- 
quently meritorious, if, outside these duties, when 
she is alone she permits her mind and heart to drift 
aimlessly, because then her life is filled with little 
voids. 

And through these moments of dreamy idleness 
there will come and go "• troubles about nothing, 
dark clouds, little suspicions, sudden silences, sharp 
words, prolonged weariness, and suUenness without 
cause." 

Mothers, friends, who wish to be always loved, 
find always a new and interesting occupation for 
those to whom you devote yourselves. 

And you who wish to remain always joyous, pure, 
and loving, impose upon yourself each day some 
task ; something definite ^ that you may not have the 
trouble of seeking it ; something simple^ that you 
can leave and resume without trouble ; something 
interesting, which will attract you when your seri- 
ous occupations are over, retain you by its charm, 
and fill the voids in your day ; " for instance, a col- 
lection to complete, a book to look over, something 
to acquire, a work of art to perfect." . . . 

God has given to occupation the mission of the 
north wind — that of purifying the miasma of the 



6o GOLDEN SANDS. 

heart, as the wind purifies the miasma of the 
atmosphere. 

Only have patience to wait, and perseverance 
that you may not grow weary. 

Even for God the conversion of a soul, in one 
sense, is not an easy thing. 

It is because she does not know how to '' wait" 
that the pious woman is often exacting toward the 
soul which she wishes to reclaim. '* The more we 
hasten," says a wise man, '* the less progress we 
make " ; the more we exact, the more we expose 
ourselves to a refusal. Men like to move unre- 
strainedly and have the merit of their virtues. 

It is because she does not know how to ** perse- 
vere " that the work always seems to be begun anew. 

Courage, then ! The ground is very difficult to 
cultivate, but each prayer let fall is like a drop of 
dew. The marble is very hard, but each prayer is 
a blow of the chisel which gradually shapes it. 

THE SEEKER OF EXCUSES FOR OTHERS. 

What a useful and delightful office is this ! 
Have you never seen the embarrassment and 
terror of a child, a servant, a brother, a sister, who 



GOLDEN SANDS. 6i 

has committed a fault, and who is reprimanded 
rather sharply, perhaps even a little unjustly ? 

You who possess a good heart, do not leave them 
under the weight of reproach and shame. 

To great criminals, convicted of crimes, human 
justice always furnishes a counsellor, whose office is 
to defend them. Assume, then, this mission, so 
paternal — I would almost say divine. 

To mitigate a punishment, to shorten a painful 
separation, can you not plead the frivolity of the 
age, the thoughtlessness of the character, the ardor 
of the temperament, the devotion of the past, the 
affection so many times manifested, the efforts to 
reform made with such constancy, the sincere tears 
you have witnessed, the fear which prevented 
submission ? . . . 

Ask pardon, insist, promise, guarantee fidelity for 
the future ; . . . and when you see that the heart 
which had to reprimand is moved, seek the culprit, 
say to him one of those affectionate words which 
certainly do not encourage his fault, but tend to 
renew his courage ; speak to him of the pain he has 
given to those he loves, and bring him back repentant. 

I know that it is necessary to scold and to ptinzsh, 
but those to whom the good God has given this 
charge are much to be pitied. 

You who have it not, excuse, sustain, protect ; is 
it not what Jesus would do in your place ? 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



You need tact ; your heart will give it to you. 

You need constancy; prayer will sustain you. 

You need courage — you to whom it is wanting on 
almost all occasions ; affection will strengthen you, 
and you will be astonished at the boldness you have 
displayed. 

A father of a family once said : ** I must hide 
from my daughter, if I wish to scold any one ; she 
always finds excuses for others." 

Oh, if that could be said of you ! 

A dull and wearied man — and he is nearly always 
weary who has not some definite occupation — is nat- 
urally fretful and easily irritated. 

A trifle irritates him. . . . If he is well-bred he 
shows his irritation quietly and politely, to be sure ; 
but there is a certain agitation on the surface, and 
you easily perceive that he is disturbed. 

Contradictions enrage him, resistance annoys him, 
silence exasperates him, submission makes him 
nervous. . . . 

Oh ! how useful then is occupation, which absorbs 
what is exuberant in life ! 

There is a danger, perhaps, that this absorbing oc- 
cupation may render us cold and indifferent ; but a 
very simple means of preventing this sad result is to 



GOLDEN SANDS. 63 

impose upon ourselves a labor which has for its end 
the happiness and well-being of those we love. 
Oh ! how kind this makes us ! 

The useful employment of time is, perhaps, one of 
the most difficult virtues to acquire. 

To have zvell filled ones day is one of the sweetest 
joys of the soul. 

To know how to be occupied, and never have to ask 
one's self. What am I going to do? is the most use- 
ful science for happiness and virtue. 

**To commence promptly, to work steadily, to con- 
tinue with constancy, to interrupt one's work amia- 
bly, to resume it calmly, to finish it a little slowly," — 
is the surest mark of a strong and virtuous soul. 

* 

All that I retain of a large book that I read was 
this thought : Where there is a will there is a way. 
This thought in itself is a whole book. 

** Mother," asked a child, '' since nothing is lost, 
where do our thoughts and desires go ? " 

" Into the memory of God," gravely replied the 
mother, "and there they remain for ever." 

*' For ever? " said the child with emotion. . . . 



64 GOLDEN SANDS. 

He hung his head, and, drawing close to his mother, 
murmured : *' I am afraid ! " 

Who of us has not uttered the same cry ? 

•*» <• 

Do you wish to win back a friend who, after long 
years of intimacy, has withdrawn from you, irritated 
by an imprudent word, or a painful suspicion, and 
who, through fear of finding himself again mis- 
judged, still keeps aloof? Make an appeal to his 
heart : say to him simply, /need you. 

He who will not hasten at this appeal, forgetting 
all the pain he has endured, can no longer possess a 
kind heart : therefore, think of him no more except 
to recommend him to God. 

** Annoya7tces ! I have had plenty, I assure you, 
in the year which has just past : but . . . 

But what ? 

I have not been annoyed at all! 

Not at all? 

No ; I have a Friend who takes upon himself 
these troubles, and who is never better pleased than 
when they are confided to Him. I bring Plim my 
annoyance, and expose to Him simply my embar- 
rassment, and under His direction things right 
themselves. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 65 

That is why you are never disturbed? 

Why should I be disturbed ? I have a habit of 
never keeping my cares; I bring them to Him 
according as they come, and He always either dis- 
sipates them Himself, or He gives me means of 
acquiring peace which astonish me. 

And this Friend is not for you alone ? 

He is the Friend of all. He is called J^esus, and 
His dwelling is near by, in the tabernacle of the 
altar!' 

Charity appears to give one a great deal of audac- 
ity ; permit me to profit by it, for the purpose of 
making you a domiciliary visit. 

It is not your rich apartments that I wish to exam- 
ine, nor this magnificent furniture, nor this fine linen, 
so complete and in such good order, which you 
would show me with so much satisfaction. 

No, it is your garret I wish to visit ; your lumber- 
room, which you perhaps have not entered for more 
than ten years, always contenting yourself with sim- 
ply saying to a servant, Put that aside. That is where 
I wish to enter. 

Only see what an accumulation of things : 

This furniture worn by time, falling apart from old 
age, and buried dust. 

These old-fashioned garments which the insects 



66 GOLDEN SANDS. 

are silently devouring in the bottom of that dilapi- 
dated closet. 

And these bed-clothes, and shreds of mattresses, 
and the remains of that faded carpet, and those 
kitchen utensils out of use. . . . 

What do you do with all these ? . . . Sell them ? 
No, certainly not; you would not dare, you would 
make so little profit by them. Are you still going 
to keep them ? But what good are they ? Listen : 
do as if you were moving ; we do not then find that 
we have too many encumbrances ? Carry them to 
that monte-de-biete of the good God which we call 
the house of the poor, where you may be sure they 
will give you more than three per cent. 

And do you know what will be done in these 
houses of the poor with your encumbrances? 

That old arm-chair, by the aid of a few francs re- 
covered and made strong, will serve as a bed for an 
infirm old man to rest on. 

These pieces of furniture, repaired a little, will 
make a whole family happy. 

These worn garments and these linen rags, which, 
coming from you, can still be mended, will form the 
beginning of a wardrobe in a young household. 

That old tapestry will become a cover-lid. . . . 

And that which cannot be made useful may be 
sold to procure some sweets for the little children, 
and brighten a few hours of their winter. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 67 

You do not Imagine the joy one feels in depriving 
himself of a material object — a garment, for exam- 
ple — that it may serve for some poor person. 

It is like a ifie between this poor person and our- 
selves which makes us a sharer in all his prayers and 
in all his merits. It seems as though God cannot 
think of him without thinking of us, and as though 
He could not love him without loving us. 

Then God always puts in the heart some little joy 
in place of the material object of which we deprive 
ourselves for the poor. 

* 

RECIPE FOR BECOMING AMIABLE. 

To be amiable is to possess a charm which draws 
to us the hearts of others, and a tie which binds these 
hearts to ours. 

This gives birth to friendship — that sweet virtue 
which unites the strength of two souls, making them 
more courageous, more constant, less sensitive to 
contradictions, and more active in seeking and prac- 
tising virtue. 

WHAT IS AMIABILITY? 

Is it beauty? No; a person who is only pretty 
would be attractive certainly, but . . . for a short 
time ; and however faint may be the indication, yet 



68 GOLDEN SANDS. 

when I discover under this charming exterior a cold 
heart, a false spirit, an irritable or vain soul, I am re- 
pelled. Something else is necessary to attach the 
heart. 

Is it an elegant toilet ? No ; though it may charm 
the eye, if it be fresh, simple, and in good taste, yet 
if I perceive merely a desire to please for the sake of 
winning flattery and praise, the charm does not last. 
Something else is necessary to attach the heart. 

Is it science? No ; if it exist alone, and above all 
in a proud, pedantic, or disdainful mind, it repels in- 
stead of attracting me, . . . compelling me to 
feel ashamed of my own ignorance. Something 
more than science is necessary to attach the 
heart. 

Is it virtue in general f No, particularly if it has 
not learned, as St. Paul recommends, to make itself 
all things to all men. 

Of course without virtue it is impossible, for any 
length of time, to be perfectly amiable ; but we must 
not conclude from this that virtue, under whatever 
form it presents itself, is amiable. 

If the person with whom I live makes me say 
every instant : '' Do not be so harsh, have a little 
more compassion in your heart ; be more gentle, 
more tolerant for my poor faults, which I try hard to 
correct, but which are always rebelling ; do not be so 



GOLDEN SANDS. 69 

sharp In discovering what I do wrong, and do not 
make me feel that I am less virtuous than you," she 
would never attract me to her or to the good God. 
Something else is necessary to attach my heart. 

This is the amiable person whom I wish to resem- 
ble : 

She seeks to divine my tastes, my intentions, my 
desires, my repugnances, and in a measure identify 
herself with ine» 

If I am unreasonable, she smiles sweetly and 
calmly, waits a second thought, which is always 
modified under her sweet influence. 

She never speaks brusquely to me, her tone is 
never imperious, her words never wound, her reply is 
never sharp. 

She never directly contradicts me, and never by a 
mocking smile gives me to understand that I have 
said somethinof foolish or committed a blunder. 

She seeks to please me by her devotion in actions 
more than in words ; she repairs, without my knowl- 
edge, the consequences of my negligence and want 
of thought. 

She makes order everywhere ; she is to all that 
surrounds me what spring is to nature ; she is to my 
heart what perfume and bright sunshine are to my 
senses. 

She bears with me without letting me know it ; 



70 GOLDEN SANDS. 

she makes me believe, not that I am perfect, but that 
I am becoming so. . , . 

How can I help loving such a person ? Not only- 
does she enrich my existence, but she improves my 
character, forms my heart, and aids the divine grace 
in sanctifying my life. 

And if in the depth of my soul, I try to discover 
in what her amiability consists, I find : 

" Kindness, which makes her thoughtful for 
others "; 

" Love of duty, which makes her devoted "; 

'* Piety, which sustains and gives her tact*'; 

" The charity of Jesus Christ, which tells her to 
love always." 

Do you wish that work should never weary 
you '^. Think that you are giving pleasure to an- 
other. 

* 

AN EASY METHOD OF ACCUMULATING RICHES, PUT 
WITHIN THE REACH OF EVERY ONE. 

A very small book was given me the other day, 
and it bore the title which I have just written, and 
you can imagine how I hastened to read it ! To be- 
come rich ! — who has not dreamed of such a happi- 
ness many times in his life ? 



GOLDEN SANDS. 71 

There were charming things in this pamphlet. 
See for yourself. 

Spend a cent less than your net income, and you 
will always be rich. 

Have a little box, carefully closed, and oblige 
yourself every day to put in it a piece of money, as 
small as you like. You will see at the end of the 
year what a treasure will be there. Money attracts 
money, and the more we amass, the more we wish 
to amass. 

To spend indiscreetly five cents a day is to throw 
twenty dollars a year out of the window ; it is wast- 
ing a sum which after ten years would have pro- 
cured many enjoyments. 

Put off till to-morrow the purchase of an object 
that you wish to-day. . . . To-morrow, perhaps, 
you will find it rather unnecessary ; then put aside 
the money you would have spent, and you will see 
at the end of the year what a fabulous sum you have 
economized. . . . 

Now this reading set me reflecting, and, God aid- 
ing, my thought mounted quietly to heaven, and, 
while it ascended, my good angel murmured in my 
ear some words of Holy Scripture which echoed in 
my heart like harmony : 

Lay up to yourselves treasures in heaven, where 
neither the rust nor the moth doth consume. If you 



72 GOLDEN SANDS. 

have much, give much ; if you have little, give this 
little with a good heart. You will thus amass a great 
treasure for your days of distress. He who gives to 
the poor shall never know want. Give alms . . . 
and God will return it to you. 

And encouraged by these thoughts, I quietly took 
a dollar bill, and I said to myself : " Let us deposit 
it ... in heaven." 

And I wrote in my account-book, *' Deposited in 
the bank of . . ." and I put some marks, the 
meaning of which was only known to God and me. 

Interest will be paid me ; of that I am sure. . . . 
In the meantime I never see that entry m my ac- 
count-book without feeling a thrill of joy and hear- 
ing a voice say softly in my ear, '* God is thy 
debtor." 

One good thought generously received always at- 
tracts another. 

Thus this deposit was scarcely made when the 
same harmonious voice continued : 

** Amen I say to you, as long as you did it to one 
of these my least brethren, you did it to me." 

" Give, and it will be given unto you." 

"' With what measure you mete, it shall be meas- 
ured unto you again." 

And my angel guardian showed me another in- 
vestment still easier than the first ; more lucrativey 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



since it can be made every instant ; more in the 
reach of everybody, since it needs no pecuniary re- 
sources. 

And he said to me, Every kind or obliging act 
towards your neighbor, placed by a direct and pure 
intention in the heart of God, will multiply and yield 
you a large interest. 

Thus, give a good advice — God will give you a 
good thought. 

You bear the annoyance of a contradiction, of a 
visit — God will bear with you and willingly remain 
near you. 

You seek to be useful, to give pleasure — God will 
seek, and certainly find, an occasion of giving you 
happiness. 

You hide the faults of another ; you excuse him — 
God will hide your faults and permit you to be 
esteemed. You refrain from taking revenge by 
making your superiority felt — God, who owes you a 
chastisement, will forget your fault. 

You willingly inconvenience yourself to render a 
service — God will procure you a multitude of little 
pleasures to which you had no right. 

Oh! how can we really neglect such easy means 
of becoming rich — rich i^i happiness ? 

* 

Let us not count too much what we do for others, 



74 GOLDEN SANDS. 

or try to measure the extent of our devotion ; the 
calculation casts a coolness into the soul, and this 
coolness communicates itself to all our actions. 

In point of virtue, "• that which costs nothing is 
worth nothing." 

To listen kindly is often an act of the most delicate 
interior mortification, and helps us very much to 
speak kindly ourselves. 

He whom nothing pleases pleases no one. 



LITTLE OFFICES. 
THE REPAIRER OF NEGLECTS. 

Even persons of the most generous disposition 
and quick perception, in the midst of the incessant 
occupations of a family, will often forget a number of 
those minute details, insignificant in themselves, but 
the privation of which to certain temperaments is a 
real cross. The details of family life are like the 
little pegs which hold the different parts of a piece 
of furniture together ; withdraw one, two, . . . 
the piece of furniture no longer has any grace ; it 
becomes disjointed. 

So it is in a family ; its harmony is sometimes only 



GOLDEN SANDS. 75 

due to the care taken not to neglect one of those 
insignificant nothings of politeness, punctuality, or 
habit to which we should give almost as much atten- 
tion as we bestow on greater duties. 

Each member of a family, particularly if he be 
advanced in years, has his little oddities, to which he 
attaches a sort of happiness. 

It is a garment arranged in such a fashion. 

It is a newspaper bought at such an hour. 

It is a lamp put in such a spot. 

It is a game played in such a place. 

It is a visit expected at such a moment. 

It is the expression of congratulations at such a 
time. 

It is a desire scarcely manifested, but often ex- 
perienced. . . . 

Watch all these little things. Take upon yourself 
to visit every morning the corners where they love 
to find every thing that is useful for the day. Go 
first to the apartment where they all assemble ; 
remove every thing which would displease them ; 
complete all the arrangements which have been care- 
lessly made. 

But do all this without noise, without parade. 
. . . Enjoy alone the happiness it gives you. 

Oh ! how the good God will return it to you in 
heaven ! 



76 GOLDEN SANDS, 

*' God is there ; He can do all. He loves me ; 
why should I fear ? " 

Delightful thought ! 

Summed up in these few words, so easy to repeat : 
" God knows iti and He loves me!' Oh ! what 
strength, what joy, what consolation they bring to 
my soul ! 

Thoughtlessly, but without any bad intention, I 
committed an act which, wrongly interpreted, may 
affect my reputation and hinder the good which I 
ought to do. I fear the consequences ; God knows 
ity and he loijes me. If I confide myself to Him, will 
He permit that I should be no longer useful 1 Can 
He not hide what I have done — make it forgotten 
by those who know it ? 

I am sick, and my malady becomes serious and 
leads me to fear insupportable suffering ; God knows 
it J and He loves me. Will he send me suffering 
above my strength ? Oh ! no, no ; I am sure that if 
He sends me suffering it is because I need it, and 
that He will measure my strength with the prudence 
of a mother who metes out to her child a painful 
remedy. 

They speak evil of me : God knows ity and He 
loves me. Will He not make the calumny a 
means of sanctification for my soul ? What is 



GOLDEN SANDS, 77 

necessary that a drop of poison should become salu- 
tary ? That it should be given by a skilful hand 
and under favorable circumstances. Does not God 
know how to administer it ? 

I am growing poor. I see my little fortune dis- 
appearing ; my health is declining. I am growing 
weak; I am afraid of being a burden, of being 
abandoned. God knows it, and He loves me. Will 
He let me want for any thing ? Will He not always 
leave near me at least one heart which will under- 
stand mine ? 

God knows it, and He loves me ! Oh ! the marvel- 
lous power of these words ! They adapt themselves 
to every circumstance in life and to every situation 
of the soul. All that is necessary that they should 
produce their effect is that we should ''watch over 
the purity of our souls and our union with God." 

Not many days since there went to heaven the 
soul of one who was little known on earth, but whose 
actions through life left a sweet odor like the 
perfume of flowers. Each morning, in her prayer 
before the Blessed Sacrament, she made this simple 
resolution : 

To-day I will give pleasure to all those whom the 
good God sends about me. 



78 GOLDEN SANDS, 

This was her occupation of the day, " and never," 
she relates, ** did the care of giving pleasure to another 
retard me in my daily duties." 

Oh ! who can tell all the acts of charity, of self- 
denial, of renouncement, of patience, which she must 
have practised in order to keep her gracious resolu- 
tion ? 

My God, the flowers, in dying, leave a fruitful 
seed ; has not this soul left one survivor who will 
continue ''her work of happiness? " 

** One of the most important duties here below 
consists in being charming, 

'* And the great mission of woman particularly 
consists in making virtues flourish by cultivating 
happiness." 

Then sow joy in souls, you who wish to see virtues 
grow. 

First make those happy whom you love and wish 
to make holy, and whom you fear you may not meet 
in heaven. Nothing prepares the soul for the grace 
of God like happiness. God reserves to Himself 
alone the right to convert by suffering and mis- 
fortune, 

" Did you observe," said a servant to his master, 
a good village curate — '' did you observe the attitude 



GOLDEN SANDS 79 

of that man in church, the weary manner of such a 
one, the inattention of . . .?" 

*'Yes, yes, I observed it," interrupted the pious 
priest, with a calm smile, '* and I tried to be more 
fervent than usual to-day, in order that the good 
God, attentive to my prayer, would perceive less the 
faults of those poor children." 

Behold what kind hearts do at sight of their 
neighbors' failings ! 

♦ 

St. Aloysius de Gonzaga, as he was about to assist 
at an instruction which he had desired very much to 
hear, was summoned to a visitor whom they repre- 
sented as importunate and counselled him to avoid. 

** No," he replied ; "■ I was going to the sermon to 
learn haw to conquer myself. Here I have an oppor- 
tunity of immediately practising that virtue." 

Hi 

Of what are you thinking? was asked a savant 
who, on his death-bed, had become reconciled to 
God. 

I am thinking, he replied with emotion, that hell is 
full of talent y and heaven of virtue. 

Do you wish to hear something very touching 
which you will not find in your books ? 



8o GOLDEN SANDS. 



Listen to what is related by a simple herdsman : 

" I do not know who it was said to me one day : 
Jean Baptiste, thou art very poor. That is true. If 
thou wert to fall sick, thou wouldst be, with thy wife 
and children, without resources. That is true, and 
I felt anxious the rest of the day. 

" In the evening at the Angelus my reflections be- 
came wiser, and I said to myself : Jean Baptiste, be- 
hold, thirty odd years that thou art upon the earth 
thou hast never possessed any thing, and nevertheless 
thou dost live ; thou hast found each day nourish- 
ment, and each night repose. In point of trouble y 
God has never sent thee more than thy measure ; in 
point of succor y what was necessary thou hast never 
wanted. . . . Who has given thee all this ? 

'' It is God ! 

**Jean Baptiste, be no longer ungrateful, and ban- 
ish anxiety ; for what can induce thee to think that 
when thou art old, when thou hast more wants, the 
Hand from which thou hast received so much will 
be closed ? I said my prayers, and my anxiety was 
at an end for ever." 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

These words are a sweet refuge prepared for us 
by the good God in the midst of this arid and weary 
desert which we call life. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 8i 

They express the act of the child who lovingly 
casts himself into his father's arms to await the pas- 
sage of the storm. 

The act of the poor abandoned one who, after 
long years of a sad and solitary life, finds again his 
mother and cries to her. Give me rest! Give me 
rest ! 

The act of the exile who returns to the home of 
his first youth, and, beholding with emotion all that he 
has loved, can only repeat. Here I wish to die! 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

Repeat these words, heart-broken by suffering and 
struggle, or still more cruelly torn by separation, and 
they will be to you a healing balm. 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

Repeat these words, heart saddened by solitude 
and crushed by neglect, and they will be for you a 
consoling friend, a sustaining support, a loving heart 
which will remain always with you. 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

Repeat these words, timid and anxious heart, 
uncertain of the path to follow, and knowing no 
longer of whom to seek counsel ; and they will be 



82 GOLDEN SANDS. 

to you a light which will guide you in the way to 
heaven. 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

Repeat these words, loving heart who would save 
your dear ones from the fear which troubles them, 
or the misfortune which threatens them ; in these 
words they will find a secure shelter, and the storm 
will pass without harming them. 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

Repeat these words with every breath, with every 
pulsation of your heart, with every movement of 
your lips. God will always understand them as you 
intend them : sometimes as a prayer ^ as an act of 
resignation, as an act oi faith in time of trouble, as 
an act of hope in time of fear — always as an act of 
love ! 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

To Thee alone, O my God, can these words be 
addressed, for to Thee alone can we confide and 
abandon ourselves completely. 

THY WILL BE DONE. 

Yes, then, my God, Thy will be done ! Thy will 
be done ! I say it from the depths of my soul ; and 
into the abyss of these supreme words I cast my- 
self — my body, my soul, my whole being, and all 



GOLDEN SANDS. 83 

that I love here below ! Thy will be done ! Thy 
will be done ! 

THE SOUL TO JESUS CHRIST AFTER HOLY COMMUNION. 
OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN. 

Jesus ! It is Thou who say est to me, Call Me 
thy Father ! My Father ! Oh ! what consolation 
in this name ! 

My Father! I feel, at this hour particularly, that 
I am not alone on earth, and that, whatever may 
come to me this day, I am sure of being guarded, 
protected, consoled, loved! . . . 

Jesus ! let me taste the happiness which this sweet 
word Father brings me. Oh ! I need not to raise 
my eyes to heaven to feel it. . . . Thou art in 
my heart, and is it not heaven where Thou art ? Yes, 
yes, my heart at this hour is heaven — heaven with 
its joy, with its peace, with its love — and if I preserve 
myself innocent to-day, my day will be a day of 
heaven, . . . happier in one sense, because it 
will be given to me to suffer something for thee. 

HALLOWED BE THY NAME. 

To sanctify thy name, O my God ! is to pronouiice 
it with respect, 

1 wish, then, to-day to recite my prayers more 
slowly, to make the sign of the cross particularly 



84 GOLDEN SANDS. 

with more piety. I wish every day to see Thee near 
me as now, listening to me with kindness, and look- 
ing upon me with affection ; my heart will be like a 
sanctuary, in which I will permit nothing to enter 
which can displease Thee. 

To sanctify Thy name is to pronounce it more fre- 
quently, I wish every hour, at least, to have it on 
my lips. I wish particularly, whenever I may have 
an important action to perform or a difficulty to con- 
quer, to murmur devoutly this invocation, which 
contains in itself the art of living well : Jesus, 
meek and humble of heart, have mercy on me, 

THY KINGDOM COME. 

Jesus, present in my heart. Thou art in Thy king- 
dom ; reign, reign there completely, sovereignly. 
Tell me, O my King, what Thou requirest of me to- 
day ? Thy commandments, my rule of life, my ordi- 
nary duties, behold ! Thy direct orders, I will not 
violate them, I promise Thee ; moreover, I will re- 
gard all those in authority over me as Thy ministers, 
commanding me in Thy name, and in Thy name I 
will obey them. What matters the tone, or the in- 
opportuneness, or the rudeness of the command ? 

What matters the inconvenience which an unex- 
pected order will cause me ? It is Thy voice ; I will 
hear Thee, Jesus, whom I will obey always in all 
things. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 85 

Again, Thy kingdom is the heart of others, and 
there also I will cause Thee to reign. 

Then to whom, O my God, can I speak of Thee 
to-day ? What counsels can I give ? What mo- 
ments can I choose when, without wounding any one 
or making a display of indiscreet zeal, I may be per- 
mitted to say a few words of piety ? 

O my God ! give me an opportunity to make Thee 
loved. 

THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN. 

Yes, yes, may it be done — ^Thy holy, adorable, 
most loving will. 

What wilt Thou send me to-day ? Humiliations ? 
contradictions ? physical sufferings ? painful intelli- 
gence which I do not expect ? an aching heart ? a 
failure? Will I see myself misjudged, wrongly 
suspected, despised ? All that Thou wishest, O my 
God, I accept it in advance, and if I weep through 
weakness, oh ! regard it not ; if I murmur, check me ; 
if I am fretful, punish me ; if I am discouraged, raise 
me up. 

Yes, yes, may it be done — ^Thy holy, adorable, 
most loving will ! 

And, moreover, O my God ! if it be necessary for 
Thy glory that I should be humbled, that I should 
suffer, become useless, be abandoned, Thy will be 
done, Thy will be done. O my Father, I am wholly 
Thine ! 



86 GOLDEN SANDS. 

GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD. 

How happy I am, O Jesus ! to depend upon Thee. 

. . . Behold me ; It is I, Thy child, who holds 
forth her hand to Thee. 

Give me the bread of the body which is necessary 
for me — clothes, nourishment, shelter — but, my God, 
do not give me . . . too much of anything, and 
grant me the grace to share to-day, by alms, with 
those who are poorer than I. 

Give me the bread of the mind, and grant me to-day 
to hear or read one of those good words which ele- 
vate the soul and give wings to the thoughts. 

Give me the bread of the heart, O my Father ! 
that I may feel for one moment — one short moment — 
that I love Thee and that Thou lovest me ; grant me 
to devote myself for another. 

Give me the bread of the soul — the Holy Eucharist. 
O Jesus ! I have just received Thee ; may I receive 
Thee soon again ? . . . Will it be to-morrow, O 
Jesus ? 

And these graces, grant them to all those I love 
and who love me ; to ... to . . . to . . . 

FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES, AS WE FORGIVE THEM 
WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US. 

When I pronounce the word forgive, it seems to 
relieve my heart. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 87 

I not only wish to banish hatred from my heart, 
but to efface every painful recollection, O my 
God ! what happiness if Thou must forgive me as I 
forgive ! Thou seest that I wish harm to no one, 
that I forgive all. . . 

They have offended me by words — I forget it ; by 
actio7ts — I forget it ; by omissions — I forget it ; by 
thoughts, by desires — I forget it. Oh ! I also have 
offended Thee in all these ways. O my God ! is it 
not true that Thou forgettest all, as I forget ? I will 
be very merciful, that Thou mayest have mercy on 
me. 

AND LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION, BUT DELIVER 

US FROM EVIL. 

In leaving thy altar I am going to encounter 
temptations. O my God! be with me ; say to me 
always, There is danger there. 

May I never seek the occasion of offending Thee ! 
If I should seek it through weakness or impulse, 
may I never find it ; if I should find it, may I never 
yield ; and if I should yield, O my God ! hasten to 
raise me up, and may I seek to confess my fault as 
soon as possible. Sin ! — this is the evil above all that 
I especially beg to be delivered from. Other troub- 
les which may come to me are only trials or expia- 
tions ; I wish them because it is Thy will. But sin 
— no, no, I do not wish it, O my God ! and even at 



88 GOLDEN SANDS. 

the moment when, through weakness, I may be on 
the point of committing it, hear this cry which I now 
send forth with so much sincerity : I do not wish it, 
I do not wish it. 

I go, O Jesus ! I leave Thy altar, but I have Thee 
with me. Together let us work, let us pray, let us 
suffer, let us devote ourselves! 

At this hour when I feel alone, depressed, and 
discouraged, when every one seems to abandon me, 
and with reason . . . there is 07ie heart which 
loves me, and which loves me dearly : I know it, I 
am sure of it. It is Thy Heart, O Jesus ! . . . 
and at this thought I could not but smile, even in 
the midst of tears. 

* 

Sink not, my poor heart ! This failure which so 
deeply humiliates you ; that sharp word which has 
just been addressed to you ; that disdainful glance 
which you detected ; that ingratitude which para- 
lyzes your devotion ; that unhappy fault which creates 
such an unfavorable impression of you, ... all 
these the fatherly hand of God has made to softly 
penetrate you as a remedy for a hidden evil which 
you saw not. Endure, wait, and submit. 



GOLDEN SANDS. 89 

THE ANGELS OF THE HEARTH, 
THE ANGEL OF RESIGNATION. 

For a long time men have gone very far In search 
of happiness. 

They take so much trouble to find it, when it is 
only necessary simply to open our hearts to it and 
remove the obstacles which prevent it from coming 
to us. 

Happiness is always within our reach. 

The most frequent obstacle to Its entering the 
heart Is a contrary spirit. 

A contrary spirit, that thorny bush which grows 
in every path, under the most serene sky, in the 
most hidden corners of family life, and every moment 
makes its thorns felt. 

And how sharply they wound ! 

How ingenious they are In finding the tender 
places ! 

How persistent! — remaining long hours, retiring 
an instant, then returning to bury themselves anew. 

How skilful In hiding themselves under a thou- 
sand forms, and a thousand different titles : *' sorrows, 
privations, poverty, affected silence, contempt, oppo- 
sition, neglect, bitter words, unjust reproaches, rlval- 
ries ! ... 

* 



90 GOLDEN SANDS. 

Close beside each thorny cluster, not to destroy 
but to blunt Its cruel points, God has stationed an 
angel with a smile full of kindness. 

And If we would make him our friend, he himself 
would trace for us a path through these thorns, and 
our life would be pleasant, sweetly calm, and merito- 
rious, and we would wait In labor and peace the 
blessed hour of deliverance. 

This angel Is modest, he lives quietly, he dwells 
everywhere, because everywhere, whether we live 
alone or surrounded by a family^ he knows that we 
are In need of him ; he contents himself with teach- 
ing those who will hear him a few heavenly words, 
which take from misfortune Its anguish, from poverty 
its sorrow, from contempt its sting, and from contra- 
diction Its harshness. 

These words, falling from his lips, and received 
into the heart, diffuse a mysterious balm which heals 
its wounds, reassures the sinking soul, and brings a 
smile even in the midst of tears. 

They are very simple ; behold them : Lord, not 
r/iy will, but Thine be done. 

There are thousands of ponderous books, written 
by learned doctors, on the means of attaining happi- 
ness, which do not say as much for the peace of the 



GOLDEN SANDS. 



soul as this simple sentence of the Our Father : Thy 
will be done. 

And while his words calm and reassure us, the 
Angel of Resignation diffuses about him a brightness 
which gradually penetrates the soul, bringing with it 
that breath of heavenly atmosphere which in human 
language we call sweetness. 

Oh! who can tell all the charm to the counte- 
nance, the amiability to the manner, the softness to 
the character, the strength to the will, and the affec- 
tion to the heart, which this breath of heaven im- 
parts ? 

The rays of the material sun, which give to the 
fruit its color, its velvet down, its refreshing juices, 
and its nourishing substance, can hardly make us un- 
derstand the power of sweetness slowly sinking into 
the soul through resignation. 

Its first effect is to destroy the existence of irri- 
tation. 

Have you ever spent several hours in a large 
manufactory, and have you remarked the innumera- 
ble parts which go and come, rise and fall, lengthen 
and contract, . . . and all with an ease and 
facility, an order and silence, which are marvellous ? 

And do you know why you never hear or see any 



92 GOLDEN SANDS. 

thing discordant ? Why each one of these thousand 
parts follows its own course without clashing, and 
contributes to the common end without interfering 
with the general work ? 

It is that from time to time an intelligent hand 
pours upon them some drops of oil. 

Such is the continual occupation of the Angel of 
Resig7iation, 

The oil which he pours among the different 
members of the same family, or among the different 
thoughts which succeed each other in our hearts, is 
gentleness. 

And this virtue prevents characters from clashing, 
from growing angry, from rebelling, either against 
one another or against events. 

Alas ! yes, against events. There, perhaps, sweet- 
ness is more necessary than in our intercourse with 
men ; we can fly from men, but we cannot escape 
from events. 

Happy are the souls who, living in friendship 
with the Angel of Resignation, have learned from 
him to " will what God wills " ; to turn from an 
obstacle rather than waste their strength in crushing 
it ; to yield rather than obstinately persist ; to plead 



GOLDEN SANDS. 93 



for admission rather than to enter brusquely ; to 
ask rather than command ; in fine, to will with all 
their hearts what they can not prevent. 

These souls are strong to bear, pliant to yield, 
and above all, kind to forget all that has given them 
pain. 






Look about you, and standing, as it were, upon 
the fragments of departed years, that your view 
may be more extended, search for the happy ones. 

Not those who appear so — parading the pomp 
of luxury and a clamorous joy — but those whom 
you will see smile when they are alone, and of 
whom it is said : " They make every one about 
them happy." 

Approach them and you will hear them murmur 
softly : Lord, not my will but Thine be done. 

The friend who dictated to me these pages on 
resignation had had his share of all this world's 
happiness — health, riches, glory, a loved family, and 
the esteem of every one — and all had gone from 
him like leaves from the trees at the approach of 
winter. 

And as he spoke to me of these trials with a calm 
smile, which the tears on his cheek could not alter, 
I asked him how he could still be happy, " Ah ! " 
he replied, raising his eyes to heaven, ''because I 



94 GOLDEN SANDS. 

am not alone ; there is near me an angel, who has 
taught me to understand these words which I had 
not known before : * All that God does is well 
done.' '' 

'* And how did you attract this angel to you ? " 

** By prayer." 

TO BE SET ASIDE. 

It is a sad, a very sad thought ! 

That it may not crush the heart, filling it with 
bitterness, it must be meditated before the crucifix. 

O Jesus, Jesus ! set aside, during the long hours of 
Thy passion, and still so unknown and despised in 
Thy eucharistic life, let me — let me look upon, and 
contemplate calmly and quietly, that terrible posi- 
tion which perhaps You reserve for me one day. 

To be set aside is to feel reduced to silence and in- 
action in a house which was formerly filled with our 
work — either because our strength has diminished, 
our mind is less clear, or simply because we have 
lost the prestige which surrounded us through the 
kindness of a superior, or the office we filled. 

To he set aside is to see gradually disappearing, 
day by day, that prestige which surrounded us as a 
soft, sweet halo — that sympathy which brought about 



GOLDEN SANDS. 95 

US smiles and kindness ; and to see those we simply 

called and believed friends gradually withdrawing 

from us, one by one. 

* * 
* 

Oh ! what must be the anguish of the poor heart 
which has preserved its power of devotion and love, 
and to whom God has sent the hard trial of being 
set aside / 

Know you not of such hearts about you, who 
weep silent tears, and whom, perhaps, through habit, 
you pass by with indifference ? 

The old and the infirm, chained to the fireside, who 
doubtless want for nothing in a material sense, but 
who are never gladdened by the least mark of affec- 
tionate tenderness, who are made to retire under the 
pretext of repose when preparations for a festival are 
required, and who more than once have believed 
that they read in the glances of those they have so 
dearly loved these hard words : Thoti tarryest very 
long. 

Forsaken ones in families, in communities, who 
are scarcely spoken to, who are overburdened 
with labor, who are always found fault with, 
who never receive a kind word — because they do 
not please, because they have faults of character 
which prevent any lasting affection, because they are 
suspected. . . . 



g6 GOLDEN SANDS. 

Calumniated ones upon whom God has left all the 
appearance of evil, and whom men avoid as they 
would one infected with the plague. 

Oh! if there are such about you, go — go sometimes 
to give them the alms of a glance, a word, or a 
simple pressure of the hand. 

Remain a few moments seated at their side, and 
to afford them a little joy delicately make them 
understand that they are still useful. 

Believe it they have received from God a mission 
of salvation for those about them. 

And you, ^^oox forsaken o?tes, with scarcely courage 
to show the wound of your heart, and more 
frequently with no one to whom you can confide it, 
look above, raise your tearful eyes to heaven, and 
send forth that cry which came from a bleeding heart 
like yours. O yesus ! yesus ! Thou — Thou dost not 
set me aside! 

No, dear forsaken ones, God does not cast you 
aside ; the more others forsake you, the nearer He 
draws to you ! 

Refrain from all complaints. If your heart mur- 
murs : My trial is hard, answer : We need it, my poor 
heart, since God has sent it to us. 

And in more painful hours, when your sore heart 



GOLDEN SANDS. 97 

will cry : Who now thinks of me f listen to your 
angel guardian : Who thinks of thee, poor soul? 
God, the Blessed Virgin^ the angels — all in heaven 
think of thee always. 

THE SOWER OF PRAYERS. 

These simple words are quite a revelation. 

To sow prayers about souls in order to e7nbalm 
and preserve them from corruption ! 

To sow prayers about souls, that they may be 
purified and opened to the grace of God ; who is 
there so weak, so little gifted, so convinced of use- 
lessness, as to be incapable of filling this little office 
in his family, in the street, near the sick? 

Independently of the person who prays, has not 
prayer in itself a special virtue ? 

Courage, then, souls who feel overwhelmed by the 
weight of your uselessncss. Sow, sow prayers ; this 
divine seed can never be lost. 



♦ ^ 
& 



The word giving has been ingeniously called by 
a spiritual writer one of the pivots round which re- 
volves the whole of our divine Christian law. 

The Christian, like God, is expansive — he loves to 
share himself; the sinner, like the evil one, \s grasp- 



ino^ — he loves to hoard. 



98 GOLDEN SANDS, 

According as we cease to give, we cease to be 
good Christians ; according as we close our purse or 
withdraw our good-will, we destroy " our taste for 
prayer, our fidelity to duty, our love of family, . . ." 
and close to ourselves a multitude of paths which 
would have led us to heaven. 

The Christian makes an occupation of giving ; we 
always find him ready to place himself at the dis- 
position of every one, and without trouble, ostenta- 
tion, or apparent fatigue, and, above all, without 
permitting his duty to suffer, he renders a thousand 
little services. 

If he cannot give his money to all the poor, he 
gives to all his good-willy which is sometimes harder 
and more meritorious than to give money. 

He gives his kindness, forcing himself to dress the 
wounds of the soul, of the heart, of the reputation, 
with the same compassion that he would dress the 
wounds of the body. 

He gives his time, never refusing to sacrifice an 
hour of his repose to aid others, even in their 
pleasures. 

He gives himself, living continually under the in- 
fluence of this thought : To whom can I do good to- 
day f 



GOLDEN SANDS, 99 



You will know the Christian by the facility with 
which he may be approached, and by the instinct 
which leads you to address yourself to him rather 
than another when you are in need of a service. 

It is he who, in the street seeing you embarrassed, 
will come to you at once, and ask simply, What can 
I do for you ? 

He who will guide you to the dwelling you are 
seeking. 

He who will yield you the inside of the street, the 
corner of the carriage, the paper in his hands which 
you are eager to read. 

He who will give you advice in passing, without 
the air or, above all, the desire of appearing to know 
more than you. 

And he will manifest in all this a tact, a discretion, 
a pleasure which not only puts you at ease, but 
makes you desire to imitate him. 



SUNDAY. 

THE RECONCILIATION OF HEARTS. 

Each week behold with delight the dawning of 
Sunday, which the good God calls His day. 

To all the days God has given the mission of lead- 
ing us to eternity by affording us on our way the 



100 GOLDEN SANDS. 

portion of joy and sorrow necessary to strengthen 
and purify us. 

But Sunday has a mission, all of love. 

I only wish to portray it under the sweet appella- 
tion given it by a saint — The bond of union of hearts, 
Satzcrday we throw aside the garments soiled by 
labor, and Sunday we clothe ourselves anew in 
garments which are not only fresher but more 
elegant. 

Why not make the toilet of our hearts as well as 
the outer toilet of the body ? 

The heart durinof the week has been often soiled 
and worn by little ranklings, by multiplied vexations, 
by neglected interest, by hard words. . . . 

Well! why not shake off this dust which tar- 
nishes the affection, why not generously pardon each 
other on Saturday, frankly extend your hand and 
embrace each other, even in the family, then retire in 
peace, with a contented heart, to await the awaken- 
ing of the morrow ? 

Sunday is God's truce for hearts. On this day 
must be suspended all feelings of resentment, all 
little animosities. . . . We must clothe our- 



GOLDEN SANDS. loi 

selves anew with pardon, forbearance, and amia- 
bility. 

Oh ! how sweet it is to renew our love for one 
another! Now, each Sunday should bring this obli- 
gation. 

Do not give coldness and indifference time to 
grow. . . . They produce hatred; and when 
hatred is once in the heart, how difficult it is to up- 
root it ! 

It is a hideous cancer whose invading progress 
resists all remedies. 

It is the poisonous plant which the gardener can 
never entirely exterminate. 

Only a miracle can destroy hatred. 

Let us make a fortification to resist the invasion 
of indifference and misunderstandings, and each 
Saturday evening let the father of the family, or he 
who takes his place, say to all : Children, this even- 
ing we forgive and forget, and to-morrow, Sunday, 
we will recommence life with renewed love for one 
another. 






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Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 

Neutralizing agent: IVIagnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Feb. 2006 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



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